3:39am December 11, 2014

I’m not quite trapped in my brain

But I was, again, and it scared me. I could see out but not get out, if you know what I mean.

Poetry got me unstuck but I’m not sure if the poem is finished, so I’ll not be posting it yet, if ever.

I sometimes connect with the world in the strangest ways.

Things I don’t know how to explain without having it in common with someone to begin with. And then I don’t need to explain. So…yeah.

I miss my father.

This whole day has been a mess.

And I can’t sleep.

Everything just feels wrong.

Although reading is good. Reading was the first part of not being trapped in my head. It gets strange though sometimes when you’re connecting with someone you’ll never meet, who you’re reading in translation from a language you’ll never speak, and yet there is a connection, because the world is odd that way. Because people can connect without meeting, people do it all the time and don’t even realize it, because we block out things like that. A lot of the world isn’t what we think it is. And things can get very strange indeed in the corners we are taught from infancy to turn our gaze away from.

I still miss my father. There’s always a connection, it never goes away, but it doesn’t feel the same.

I want to live in a place where everyone knows at least a little, the things from the stranger corners of the world. So when I encounter writing that shows that awareness, I feel less alone. Even if I could never explain what I mean. Even if I’ll never communicate with that person.

Books are a strange form of communication because they go out and talk to people for you, and yet don’t always bring those people back to you, so it’s kind of like a one way street, except not, because reasons.

I’m trying to read all this stuff for a book blog, but getting hung up on the about page, but without the about page I can’t do the blog, and it’s frustrating.

And I miss my father. He can be right here, and I still miss him. I hope he found the love I put in a box for him outside of space and time. And I’m trying to remember that grief is a form of love. Not a pleasant one, but it can’t exist without it.

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